


don’t think about it, let your body respond

by Helenish



Series: Here is a thing that isn't happening. [5]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, underage mumble mumble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-01
Updated: 2011-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:00:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenish/pseuds/Helenish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't know anything about me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don’t think about it, let your body respond

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Nie myśl, niech twoje ciało samo odpowie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063378) by [Donnie_Engelvin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donnie_Engelvin/pseuds/Donnie_Engelvin)



"I said I was sorry," Eames says, slamming in the door, ripping his stupid tie over his head.

"I don’t want you to be sorry," Arthur says, coming in behind him and swinging the door shut. "I want you to think for five seconds before you start making decisions that can screw over all of us--"

"It worked, didn’t it," Eames says. He shoves past Arthur into the kitchen. "We’re out, Mal and Dom are fine--"

"Because I was there to clean up the mess you made, just like always," Arthur says. He was calm in the car on the way home, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel as he explained what Eames should have done, every single little thing he did wrong, but now, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, he looks angry. His collar is rumpled.

"When are you going to stop rubbing it in my face when I fuck up?" Eames says. "I’m doing the best I can, and just because you’re fucking perfect at everything--"

"I never said that," Arthur says.

Eames gets out the orange juice and pours himself a glass, forces himself to drink it, even though the first sip makes his stomach hurt. Arthur moves around him silently, getting his own glass and filling it with water. Eames stares at the back of his neck, bent over the sink.

"Nothing I ever do is good enough for you," he says. "I went to that stupid fucking school and I learned how to do everything you asked me to, and you still treat me like I’m just. nothing--"

"Like you’re a child," Arthur corrects. He puts the glass in the sink and turns around, his face infuriatingly calm again.

"Keep telling yourself that," Eames says. "I see how you look at me, how you look at Dom and Mal, it’s pathetic--"

"You don’t know anything about me," Arthur says, trying to step around him, and Eames crowds him back against the counter, wanting, more than anything, for Arthur to just look at him once, just see him, but Arthur’s looking past his shoulder.

"You’re going to be alone your whole fucking life," Eames says contemptuously, his mouth almost touching Arthur’s ear.

"Get out of my face," Arthur grits out, knocking Eames away from him with one hand. Eames shoves back, his fingers twisting in Arthur’s shirt; Arthur tries to shake him off and Eames holds on, and then Arthur -- punches him. He doesn’t even see it coming and it snaps his head back, bangs his lip into his teeth. Arthur falls back away from him, hand dropping, and, because this is what he’s been trained for, hours and hours of drills with Arthur, careful, methodical, saying "again, don’t think about it, let your body respond--" Eames pushes forward, smashes his forehead into Arthur’s and simultaneously pounds his fist up into Arthur’s stomach, throwing his full weight behind the punch.

Arthur goes down, crumpling into the corner against the kitchen cabinets.

"I’m sorry," Eames blurts out. His voice sounds blurry, shocked. Arthur’s staring up at him a little hazily, one eye already going red and puffy. Eames takes a step forward and then a nervous step back. Arthur touches two fingers gingerly to the edge of his nose, pulls them away, and stares at the blood on them. He huffs a mirthless little laugh, and for a second Eames thinks he’ll say something that’ll make everything all right, say "take it easy on an old man, will you?" or "just for that, I want a pizza with peppers and onions, and you’ll just have to cope" or even, "this is the thanks I get?" in this weird scratchy voice he puts on when he’s joking around, but Arthur doesn’t say anything for a long time, just stares down at the kitchen floor.

"I don’t know why I ever thought I could teach you anything," he says finally, and he sounds tired and angry and sad.

Eames runs.


End file.
